


This Is The Pale Moonlight Pt.1

by TobiasOfArkham



Series: This Is The Pale Moonlight [1]
Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Batjokes, Canon divergence post Arkham City, Darkfic, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Paranormal, Psychological Horror, Sad, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiasOfArkham/pseuds/TobiasOfArkham
Summary: This is nothing like previous times. We're still dancing.
Relationships: Batman/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: This Is The Pale Moonlight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920730
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	This Is The Pale Moonlight Pt.1

**Author's Note:**

> _This Is The Pale Moonlight_ is one continuous short story, but due to the significant shift in tone from pt.1 to pt.2, it's divided into separate works.
> 
>   
> This first part works as a standalone. It's all about the Bat-feels. Joker is listed as a character. You decide whether he is.
> 
> Enjoy! (or suffer, or cry - same thing) ;)
> 
> ***

He'd seen so many of them over the years. All shapes and sizes. Some of them familiar, others strange. Most of them he'd encountered in his line of work. Others... where they simply should not be; as they never really should be - not in his world. Some were like porcelain dolls, some plain, as rude as it feels to think, while others… what was left. Some were soft and pliable, some rigid - both cold. Some so peaceful and others contorted into shapes he once didn't know bodies could; colours he had never imagined on human skin. Two of them never left him. Every little detail of them would remain seared into his brain until the day he would become one of them. This one was no different in that sense. He would carry this one too, always.

He had been there when the life had left this one. He had felt that all too familiar feeling, that deep intuition when everything in the room changes. When he had looked down at him and he had looked exactly the same, yet completely different. It had been hard, then, but too enormous to understand. The only thing he had been able to do was to pick him up and focus on getting him out of there. To shield him from the reality and shield himself from the feelings of growing panic and guilt and the unimaginable grief underneath that threatened to consume him entirely, to make him collapse onto the asphalt in front of the Monarch Theater and wail.  
  


It was so very peaceful in the building. An old, relatively small one of red brick and overgrown weeds circling it, closing in on it as though in a years long, creeping stranglehold. Standing on a small hill not far from the banks of Gotham River. In the corner of his eye he could make out the dark silhouette of the cremation furnace and it wrenched at his heart, filling him with icy dread. He didn't want to think about it. Not yet... He kept his eyes forward, willing himself to stay still, to not freak out and run away. The room was dark and silent. The moonlight making its way through the small window cast an an eerie, gentle, pearly white glow on the achingly familiar and close yet terrifying face of the man lying on the slab; the one he had taken out of refrigeration, gently lifted onto it and stayed there staring at him, transfixed, for a time unknown. He felt very much outside of time and space. Just the two of them. If you'd asked the dead man while he was still alive, he would have told you this was always the case.

Batman took in the lithe frame, still in its purple, pinstriped suit, his bow tie and beautiful, once dangerous, lapel flower. For all his flaws the man always had a unique sense of style much like himself but with a different kind of flair. Batman had found himself unable to even go near him while he'd had the body in his possession, on his property. He'd claimed it was for final research on his conditions, both the underlying one and the one that had eventually killed him. In truth, he simply didn't trust a single solitary soul to treat this - to treat him - appropriately. He had brought him here yesterday, thinking it was a perfectly unassuming place, and demanded that no employee touch him. They had not asked questions; People rarely did when Batman spoke to them like that. He fully intended to incinerate everything Joker was wearing, everything to do with that traumatic day.

The Joker's clothes were slightly crumpled from being moved around and his hair disheveled on one side. Apart from that however… somehow he still struck Batman as beautiful. To him, even with the grotesque permanent smile he was somehow pleasant to look at. Batman supposed he was used to it by now. The Joker would always smile whenever he saw him. This thought physically hurt his chest. He felt himself begin to shiver slightly from something he could have mistaken for getting cold had his Batsuit not been as well insulated. He could feel something closing in, something he had been trying to push away for so long. According to what he'd told himself he was here to say goodbye and send him on his way, to bury the memory of one of the worst people to ever live. The reality, however... No words could ever have described the cacophony of how he felt as he physically shook from grief, despair, fear and a longing for a reality where this didn't happen to him, where this didn't have to be the way he felt by the side of his...   
  


He dismissed the end of that sentence and took a step closer to the slab. Joker's eyes were closed and he really would have looked at peace if not for the ghastly grin. Considering how he'd died, how frail and imperfect he was, how his skin was splashed with flaking red splotches, the white of his skin still seemed like snow, as it always had, his hair as shockingly green as ever, matching his eyes, now wide open, pupils rapidly contracting and piercing right into his, a dry crackling draw of a breath right next to Batman's ear - the soft, menacing hiss of ice water trickling down his neck:

_"Darling."_

  
  


Batman jumped and dived behind the furnace, drew a batarang with shaking hands. He was fairly sure he had just yelped out loud but with the frantic hammering of his heart loud in his ears, rushing with adrenaline, he couldn't care to curse himself for it. He peered around the room. He tried not to think about the intense heat within the maw that was to devour what he had to admit was his other half, in a twisted way. He couldn't feel it from here, but knowing it was there right beside him was distracting. He couldn't decide which thought scared him the most: that of being caught, that of Joker being alive, or that of losing his mind because he isn't. If someone was messing with him he would... he would...  
  


_"- crack that disrespectful skull open, won't you? And love it, too. Hehe."_

  
But of course, the only sign of life was his own heavy, uneven breathing. Just him and the Joker. Figures, he thought bitterly, that the wretched, cursed clown couldn't leave him alone even in death. Of course he would imagine things in this fragile state of mind. He waited a while crouched behind that infernal thing and tried to pull himself together. He swallowed against his dry throat before daring to glance over at the slab. There, the Joker lay, as still and silent as before, as ghostly in the moonlight, against the hazy shapes in the backdrop of the dark room. Batman got back onto his feet and took one slow step after another, cautiously approaching the corpse. It felt so wrong thinking of him as one. He was the Joker. It was _his_ Joker; eyelids resting again, as were his hands laid on top of each other on his chest, looking as harmless as he ever could.

Batman now stood right next to him. He lowered his gaze down at him, again filled with that nauseating swirl of conflicting emotions, the strongest of which was to hold his hand. His gloves came off one by one, the spikes clanking against the tiled floor. He hesitated for a moment before removing his cowl as well; He couldn't bear not to face him fully, not after he'd allowed things to come to this. He couldn't let the guilt consume him, he'd have to get closure somehow and it would never happen unless he did this. He half-sat on the edge of the slab and swallowed hard.

"I know you think this is funny," he said in a hoarse voice, with a lump in his throat, "I... I guess it is," he chuckled darkly.

Batman could no longer bear the way he was feeling. He reached his hand towards Joker's and laid it on top of it. A few long seconds passed and nothing happened. He gently pulled Joker's gloves off and took his lily-white hand into his own. It was cold but smooth, as he remembered his skin always being, more so than anyone else's, except for the rough spots that he could remember by heart by now... At least the ones -

He shook his head and squeezed the hand.   
  


"Laugh at me all you want,” he said, “I have to do this. I'm not sure why, but -"  
  


The pressure that had been forming between his eyes turned into a sting in the inner corners. His breath caught, then shook and he could no longer stop the tears falling.

_"You're pathetic!"_ Joker suddenly barked at him.   
  


Batman didn't dare look at his face. He could feel his own fingers tightening around Joker's.  
  


_"You could have prevented this years ago. You knew what to do. You only had to listen to me, you only had to - ooh, what's this? Someone's getting angryyy!"_

Joker tittered and taunted in a sing-song voice and cackled while Bruce realized he was close to breaking his fingers. The voice was suddenly nearer, it growled, demonic, yet recognizably Joker -

 _"I strongly advise you not to look at me right now because you won't like what you see. DISAPPOINTMENT!"_ he snapped, _"That was how you'd let me go? ME?! Why break when you can create! Chaos is my job, you dolt! Oh, if you'd done this like it's supposed to be done... Either do that or do it yourself with your own two -"_

  
  


_CRACK!_

It sounded so loud in the small room it startled Batman. He let go of the hand. The pale, limp hand, now broken, rolled down his side and landed on the slab with a weak thud. This crumbled the defenses and burst open the floodgates; Batman heaved and shook and gasped, the tears were streaming down his face now, and he was absolutely terrified to look at his would-be-lover, so he took Joker's advice: he grabbed hold of both of his hands and let out a pained moan as he leaned over him, burying his face in his chest for comfort while he cried into his lapel, wailing and howling, clung to him like a scared child.  
  


"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry... I couldn't. You know I couldn't... But I knew," he said, between sobs, "It was always you and me... Because... because I..."  
  


He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence but instead kept sobbing there for a while. Joker remained quiet all this time and Batman could have sworn he felt his hair being stroked gently even though he had both of Joker's hands in his. This finally got him to wipe his face and pull himself upright. There was Joker's unmoving face, eyes still shut. The smile seemed more gentle now somehow, and part of him was extremely alarmed at this. He focused instead on looking around.   
  


Still nobody there. He regarded Joker for a long while, completely overwhelmed.  
  


"WHY?!" he abruptly bellowed at him and before he could stop himself his fist landed on Joker’s ribs with a crunch. "You're just a piece of meat," he said in disgust, "Why am I talking to you? Did you pass your insanity on to me? Well, thank you. That was just lovely."  
  


He knew it was a stupid question. He knew why he was here and regardless of what the reality of his apparent hallucinations were, he had always had the terrifying feeling that Joker is immortal - that they both are, together. He might as well speak to him because somehow, he will hear - always has, always will.  
  


"You are so beautiful," he heard himself say, weakly, gently. It hurt so much to say, but like something he needed to vocalize, finally. "For someone in your situation, anyway," he added.  
  


Joker let out a little chuckle at this. This time, Bruce had his eyes on his face as he did. It hadn't moved but he felt inexplicably certain that it was Joker who had said this. The suddenly ethereal voice spoke, softly:  
  


_"Aw, to you I still look as beautiful as the day we met, don't I? As do you to me, darling."  
  
_

Batman was at a loss for words. He wanted to say 'yes' but it seemed redundant. Joker was most likely in his own head anyway. He settled on stroking his hands, then his cheek, smoothing his hair, adjusting his wonky lapel... Against his earlier promise, he removed the flower and put it into a compartment in his utility belt.  
  


_"You're so sentimental. It makes me sick."_   
  


"Shut up, Joker..." Batman said lazily, his tone more than a little affectionate. He regarded the narrow face for a long time, getting the ridiculous urge to kiss the tip of his pointy nose. On further consideration he couldn't come up with a reason not to. It was just the two of them. Nobody would see him reveling in this insanity. No one would ever know. So, he bent over to place a feather light kiss on it. To his surprise, Joker said nothing. He had expected a laugh at least, perhaps to be mocked for being such a softy. He decided to seize the moment and place a gentle kiss on his lips as well. He would do that, then get the hard part over with. Once Joker was ash, he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore... nor be hurt. Batman would survive this, somehow, just like he had before…

He cupped the dead man's cheeks in his hands and approached him. It felt like an eternity was embedded in the moment that it took for his lips to finally brush against the cool, pale ones. He could smell what remained of his cologne, of his lipstick, of _him_ , but there was also a new scent, that unnerving strangely sweet, barely noticeable scent that can only mean one thing. He could see from the corner of his eye that Joker's eyes were ever so slightly open, just enough to see the distant, cloudy, dead stare in them. He was frozen to the spot. He felt the embrace of his imaginary ghost or demon pulling him in; the cold hands crept around his back, fingernails pressed against his skin. Even with his armor still on he could feel them pass the threshold of pain. It pulled the breath right out of him and drained the blood from his face. It all suddenly felt very real; The grief, the pain, the fear, the longing, the desire... And death.

_"Did you honestly think you'd get off that easy, Batman?"_


End file.
